Halfway down the trail to hellIn a shady meadow green,Are the souls of all dead troopers campedNear a good old-time canteen And this eternal resting place Is known as Fiddler's Green.

Marching past, straight through to hell,The infantry are seen, 'Accompanied by the Engineers,Artillery and Marine, For none but the shades of Cavalrymen Dismount at Flddlers' Green.

Though some go curving down the trailTo seek a warmer scene,No trooper ever gets to HellEre he's emptied his canteen, And so rides back to drink agaln With friends at Fiddlers' Green.

And so when man and horse go downBeneath a saber keen,Or in a roaring charge or fierce meleeYou stop a bullet clean, And the hostiles come to get your scalp, Just empty your canteen, And put your pistol to your head And go to Fiddlers' Green.

Note: as far as we can tell, immediate post-Civil War RGFrom Sound Off!, Dolph@American @Armyfilename[ FIDGREN2TUNE FILE: FIDGREN2CLICK TO PLAYRG